You Make the Sound of Pulling Heaven Down
by Unbeautifully-Broken
Summary: Claire is nearly sixteen. Quil has waited for years to tell her his secret, and now she's falling for someone. Someone who isn't Quil. OC.Claire.Quil.
1. I Met A Boy Today

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer's universe. My warped version of it all. Title of story taken from a song by Coldplay.  
**

Note: This story will have a lot to do with what's going on in the lives of my friends and family (they're all crazy), not to mention all the drama that comes with being a werewolf and falling in love. You have been warned.

One: I Met a Boy Today

Quil Ateara had been crazy about little Claire for as long as he'd known her. Literally. He'd first laid eyes on her when she was only two years old, and from that moment on, he was completely devoted to her. He thought about her, dreamt about her, worried about her, and watched over her day and night. And Claire was thrilled to have a friend like Quil. Nothing and no one had ever come between them, and no one ever dared to try.

Until a year ago.

………………………………

"Claire, what are you trying to do?" Quil yelled, standing up so quickly that he knocked his chair over with brutal force. He rushed over to where I was standing, balanced precariously on the edge of a rickety chair. He wrapped his warm, russet-colored arms around my waist and gently pulled me down, holding me to him as though he was afraid I'd try to off myself the second he let me go.

"I was _trying_ to dust the mantel. It hasn't been done in forever. I don't see how you can live this way," I said, disgusted as I surveyed the thick layer of grime on the rag I'd been using to dust. I was only staying at Quil and Embry's for the night, because my parents had gone out of town, but I couldn't bear to be in a dusty room, even for that long.

"I like it that way. It lets me know if anyone's been sneaking around in here." He raked a finger across the top of a dust-covered table, leaving an obvious mark. I snorted loudly and turned around, climbing back up into the chair.

"Like anyone could get past the door with you living here, Quil," I sighed, reaching up again. Before I could resume my task, though, Quil had pulled me down from the chair again. Then, with one easy movement, he lifted the chair with one hand and held it over his head so that I couldn't reach it.

"Ugh! You know what? Fine! Be that way! I was just trying to do you a favor, but no! You've got to be so _damned_ stubborn about everything!"

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Claire," he said quietly, looking at me from behind long, dark lashes. It was unsettling.

"Well, if I wasn't so short, I wouldn't have needed the chair," I said acidly, as though I was blaming Quil for my stature. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"So, are you trying to tell me you have an excuse for putting yourself in danger?"

"Danger? What danger? I was _two feet_ off the ground! On carpet! And you could see me! And I'm not four years old! Holy sh-"

"Claire!"

"Okay, this is ridiculous. I am going for a walk. And when I get back, I want this place spotless. You got me?"

I didn't wait for an answer, and I honestly didn't care if Quil cleaned up or not. But lately, his overprotective tendencies had gone too far. I grabbed the thinnest jacket I could find, threw my cell phone in its pocket and stormed out the door. It was a pleasant seventy degrees and sunny in La Push, perfect weather for walking. And getting my mind off the suffocating Quil. I knew he would stand at the window and watch me until I'd walked out of sight. He was just so weird sometimes.

I didn't know why, but I had this funny feeling about Quil. I'd had that feeling for about two years, since my fourteenth birthday. But I'd be sixteen in two weeks, and I was no closer to figuring out why Quil was the way he was than I had ever been.

Of course, I could tell Quil anything. He never judged me. He always listened, and he always protected me. Once, when I was in the first grade, a boy from school and I had been playing at the school playground, and he'd knocked me down. I'd scraped my knee and cried to Quil about it. Quil marched up to the school and found the boy, held him upside-down by his ankles and forced him to apologize—several times—before he put him down. The boy never so much as looked at me again.

Sometimes Quil overreacted like that, though. It was one of those things I didn't understand. No one else in La Push—none of Quil's friends, like Jacob or Embry—ever freaked out over me like Quil did. Not even my Uncle Sam, or Aunt Emily.

But lately, it had gotten too strange. Ever since Sam had mentioned that my sixteenth birthday was coming up soon, Quil had begun to watch me even more closely, but differently, somehow. He never hugged me anymore, he never held my hand…it was as if he was afraid to touch me.

Oh, well.

I turned my thoughts away from Quil and focused instead on my running. To ensure that I didn't think of him, I turned my cell phone off and stuffed it back in my pocket. I ran all the way down the street, which took about ten minutes, and I paused to catch my breath. I looked around me and noticed a moving van was parked outside a house that had been empty for a few months. The sign out front, which used to say "FOR SALE", now read "SOLD". Curiosity got the best of me, and I walked toward the van, where two large men were busy hauling out a sofa.

I didn't want to bother them, so instead, I looked for someone who wasn't carrying a big, heavy piece of furniture. I didn't have to search long.

"Are you lost?" a voice said behind me. I turned around quickly and looked into the bright blue eyes of a complete stranger. He was tan and in good shape, clearly an athlete. His dirty blonde hair fell in shiny ringlets into his eyes. And he was looking at me like I was a complete idiot.

"I said, are you lost?" he repeated slowly. He probably thought I was retarded.

"I—I, no! Definitely not lost, I come here all the time!" I said, not able to tear my eyes away from the beautiful boy in front of me. "I runner. I mean, I run. I am a runner, haha…" Oh, damn! Why couldn't I ever think of anything clever to say?

"You…were running? To here?"

"Not really to here, to this _exact _address. I was just, you know, stopping for a minute to catch my breath, and I saw the moving van, and I decided I'd come and, you know, welcome my new neighbors! Into…the neighborhood…" Another nervous laugh. What was wrong with me? _Stop it, Claire! Talk like you don't sniff nail polish every day!_

"What is your name?" he asked, and he actually looked interested, much to my amazement.

"C-Claire. My name is Claire." It sounded more like a question.

"Are you sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I only looked at him, puzzled. Then, he laughed. "I was only kidding. I'm Bryan. My family and I just moved here from Colorado."

"Do you like it so far?" I asked, deciding I couldn't make myself look too stupid with short, concise sentences.

"Well, yeah, I guess. It's very different. It doesn't rain so much back home. Well, I guess this is home now, though," he said, and he laughed again. I liked his laugh. I wanted him to keep doing it.

"Yeah…it does rain an awful lot here. So, um, how old are you?"

"I'm seventeen. I'll turn eighteen in a few weeks. You?"

"I'll be sixteen this month. Everybody's freaking out about it. Some more than others," I stated, thinking of Quil. Bryan must have noticed my expression change, because he laughed again.

"What's so bad about turning sixteen? There's so much more…freedom!"

"Not in my case," I groaned, desperately wanting to talk about something else. "My friends are throwing a party for me. It's still nothing to look forward to."

"A party? Really?" he asked, sounding interested. My stomach flipped over.

"Um…yeah. Would you like to come? I mean, I understand if you don't want to, because we just met and all, but a lot of people are coming…it'd be a great way for you to make friends," I explained, babbling on and knowing it, yet unable to stop the flow of verbal vomit.

"Sure. That'd be great. I'd like to make new friends here. And I'm glad that you were the first one," he said, smiling at me. I decided I liked his smile even better than his laugh. He looked almost like an angel.

"Okay, great. It's two weeks from today from seven to whenever, my house. I don't have paper with me right now, but I run past here everyday, so I can write down the address for you and bring it tomorrow, if you want…"

"How about we just trade phone numbers?" he asked, still smiling. Oh. Phone numbers. A guy, a_ cute_ one, was asking for my phone number. Oh dear.

"Um…y-yeah." He was already pulling out his cell phone. I mumbled my number to him and he typed it in, saving it. I removed my phone from my pocket and turned it on, noticing carelessly that Quil had called me—six times—since I'd left his house. I decided not to call Quil back; I copied Bryan's number into my phone and put it back in my jacket pocket.

He watched every move I made. We didn't speak for a moment. Very awkward silence.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Claire, but I should probably be helping my parents unpack. I guess I'll see you later?" he asked, and he actually sounded like he wanted to.

"Yeah. Sure! Bye." I said, smiling and watching with something akin to awe as he walked away. It took a few seconds before my brain reminded me that I had to walk in order to get home.

And all the way home, I'll have you know—I _whistled_. Yes. I had a wonderful reason to look forward to my party now. _Whistle, whistle, whistle._

…………………

"Damn it, Embry! Where can she possibly be? It's pouring outside! It's coming down in sheets! What if she gets pneumonia? What if she DIES?" Quil was screaming when I walked through the door. Embry, big as he was, was hiding behind the sofa, as Quil had turned to throwing things in my prolonged absence.

"Look, Quil! There she is now! She's alive! And not dead! And _alive_!" Embry cried, pointing, thrilled that Quil was setting down the lamp in his large hand instead of throwing it.

"I can see that; thank you, Embry," Quil snarled through clenched teeth. He never took his eyes off mine. I swallowed hard.

Embry jumped from behind the couch and darted into the kitchen, slamming—and locking—the door behind him. Quil and I stood, frozen, for a few tension-filled moments before all hell broke loose.

"Claire…Claire…Claire…" Quil said dangerously. He was so mad that he couldn't even form a coherent sentence. I'd never seen him this angry. Then, he exploded. "Just WHAT do you think YOU WERE DOING? You marched right out of here without telling me where the HELL you were going! And I didn't get a phone call or note or ANYTHING! What's the point of you HAVING that damned cell phone if you're not going to ANSWER IT?"

He was pacing now. Pacing was a bad sign. He was going to be at this for a while. I took off my soaking-wet jacket and let it fall to the floor, suddenly exhausted. I stumbled to the couch and sank into it, not caring if I got the whole thing soaked. My jeans were rubbing my thighs raw. My eyes began to close.

"LISTEN TO ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" he shouted, his hands clenched into trembling fists. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND HOW DANGEROUS IT IS FOR YOU TO-"

"Dangerous? Really, Quil. This is Washington. A rainy, puny little town in Washington. Nothing ever happens here. I just ran to the end of the street and back. That's all."

"You have no IDEA what's out there, okay? You don't know what the world's like! You're still a child!" I thought I detected some strange emotion in his eyes then…but I couldn't place it. It had to be part of Quil's mystery. Why he was so strange about everything, why he was so warm, why he never seemed to change…why he was so angry right now.

"I know the world is a crummy place, Quil. But I'm not going to let that keep me from taking a walk down the street that I live on! That's just…pathetic!"

"Being pathetic is better than being dead," Quil mumbled, his eyes beginning to soften.

"No, it's not. Not to me, Quil. I'd rather live a short, happy life than a million _pathetic_, miserable ones," I said firmly, sighing and curling up on the sofa.

Quil sighed, too. I felt the couch sink down near my head, and a burning hand gently touched my face.

"It just…took you longer than usual on your run. And it was raining. I got worried."

Memories of Bryan, beautiful, sweet, non-Quil, non-crazy Bryan brought a happy smile to my lips. Quil must've seen it, because he got angry again.

"What? Does it make you happy that I worry?" he demanded, the volume of his voice rising again.

"No, Quil. It's not that," I whispered, feeling a pleasant sleep settling over me. Quil's hand moved down my cheek and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"Oh? Then what is it that's got you smiling so big?" he said, and I was glad to hear that his anger was finally fading away. And in my sleepy state, I told nothing but the pure truth to Quil, something I would have known better than to do if I'd been fully conscious, considering what the truth was.

"I met a boy today," I murmured, just before my eyes fluttered closed. I barely realized that Quil's hand jerked away from me so suddenly; I hardly registered the sound of his heavy footsteps marching right out of the house, into the raging thunderstorm. And I definitely didn't hear the lonely, pained cry of a wolf somewhere in the distance.

…………………

End Chapter

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review if you would like me to continue.


	2. Fancy Seeing You Here

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just a crazed fan.**

**Oops! My bad: The title of this song comes from "Sound of Pulling Heaven Down" by Blue October, not by Coldplay. I think I was listening to Coldplay while I was thinking of a title, possibly. Sorry about that!**

Note: Enormous thanks to my reviewers—carconee, iluvharryandron, xXblackheartzXx, SapphireLips77 (although I'm not entirely sure what you said :), tearsfalldownmycheeks, MarryMeTopaz, Saranha de Angelo, Laura and Edward Lover. Your kind words brightened my day!

Two: Fancy Seeing You Here

The phone rang.

"Claire, it's for you!" Embry called. I put down the book I'd been reading, stretched, and made my way into the kitchen. Embry rolled his eyes at my slow pace and handed me the old, yellowed plastic receiver before perusing the cupboard for what he referred to as 'munchies'.

"Hello? This is Claire."

"Claire! Sweetie, it's me," Mom said, her voice sounding relieved. "I was just waiting for you to call me and tell me that you needed me to come get you!"

"Mom," I sighed, "I'm fine. Really. Quil and Embry haven't let me out of their sight. Are you and Dad back in Washington yet?"

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, you know how I worry…but that's what I was calling to tell you; your father and I have a bit of bad news." Bad news? My parents had flown to Florida to go to the funeral of one of mom's close friends. I couldn't imagine how that could have been anything _but_ bad news.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked, suddenly feeling worried.

"Well, now don't panic, Claire—your father and I were in an accident on the way back to the hotel, from the service. I'm alright, but your father broke two ribs and punctured a lung—but he's going to be fine, okay? The doctors just don't feel that it's safe for him to travel just yet. But we'll be home in time for your birthday, alright?"

That stung a bit, that my mom thought I was more worried about my stupid birthday than I was about Dad.

"That's okay; don't get in a rush, Mom. But what did you hit? Another car?"

"No; it was raining, a big storm came out of nowhere, and your father lost control. We hit a tree. No one else was hurt, and your father is laughing and talking. We're both alright, really. Our insurance is going to go through the roof, though." She tried to make a joke at the end, and it did make me feel a little better. If Dad was really doing what she said he was, then he had to be okay. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"But Claire, I need you to talk to your Uncle Sam for me. I hate to ask him to keep you at his house for such a long time, but it's likely to be a week or two before we can come home. I don't want you staying home alone for that long. Just please ask him if he'd mind if you stayed there for a while."

"Couldn't I just stay here, with Quil and Embry?" I asked, immediately wondering where I'd gotten the guts to ask such a question. Mom was quiet for a moment.

"I don't know if I'm thrilled about that idea, Claire," she said, her tone becoming very stern. I turned on the Cuddly Claire Charm.

"But Mom," I whined (Embry raised an eyebrow at me; I ignored him), "I'll be good, really. Quil's always taken care of me; you know that. He won't let me out of his sight for a minute. And besides, Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily have a full house right now, with all their kids, and a baby on the way. I don't want to be an additional burden." I smiled to myself, congratulating myself on my brilliant logic. Quil was my best friend, and as annoying as he was, I'd still rather stay with him than with Uncle Sam, whom I wasn't particularly close to; he sort of scared me, to be honest.

I could hear my mother struggling with herself. But finally, she sighed and agreed to let me stay with Quil, on the condition that I called my uncle and aunt and let them know where I'd be staying. And I had to call my mother every single day. Of course. I think Embry has supersonic hearing, because he chuckled when Mom said that.

When I'd finally managed to get off the phone with her, Embry decided he'd comment on our living arrangements for the next two weeks.

"Quil probably won't let you sleep on the sofa for that long, and he's not going to give up his bed, which means that I'm going to have back problems for a very long time," he said wistfully, casting a glance at the small couch in the living room. I giggled.

"I'm not going to take your bed, Embry. I promise. I'll sleep on the couch," I volunteered gallantly. Embry grinned widely.

"I'm going to buy you something really nice. Like—like—an air mattress!" he said triumphantly, spilling a few Cheerios out of the box and onto the kitchen floor.

"That won't be necessary," I said, trying not to laugh. "That couch is more comfortable than my bed at home. It's an improvement," I said, and the sad part was, I was telling the truth. Just then, I heard the screen door open loudly and smack into the wall outside.

"Oh. Quil. Where. Have. You. Been. I. Was. So. Worried." Embry said in a monotone voice, not even looking at him. He rammed a hand down into the box of cereal. I looked up at Quil and noticed that he looked very unlike himself; his eyes had enormous bags beneath them, his hair was oily and tousled, his hands and face were smudged with dirt and his shoulders slumped inward. He looked the worst that he ever had. My heart broke.

"What happened?" I asked breathlessly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. It hurt me so deeply when he pulled away.

"I've been out."

"All night, too," Embry interjected.

"All night? Alone? Quil! Where did you go?" I gasped, knowing he didn't have to work last night, surprised at Quil's behavior and equally shocked at how little Embry seemed to care about how horrible his friend looked or how long he'd been gone. I'd had no idea that Quil had left—had I? I remembered hearing the door open and close…but that was all…surely Quil hadn't been wandering around _outside_…_that_ long…"What would make you do that?" I asked, worried for him.

"There were some things I needed to sort out. That's all. I'm fine now." He used a clipped tone with me, one I'd never heard before. He barely even looked at me. I didn't like it. No, I _hated_ it.

"Quil, tell me what's wrong," I said quietly, leaning in and reaching for him again. "You've always told me everything. There's no reason why you can't now."

"Things are different now, Claire. You're going to be sixteen soon."

"Oh, please! What does that have to do with anything?" I shouted, suddenly unable to control how angry I was that he was acting this way. "So I'm older, so what? None of my other birthdays have bothered anyone this much! Why is everybody being so weird? It's not like I'm going to just—flip out!" I screamed, waving my arms around in emphasis. Embry raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if to speak, but I silenced him with a don't-you-even-think-about-it glare.

My heart was pounding erratically; I'd never yelled at Quil like this. He finally looked at me, straight in the eyes, and his was the saddest face I'd ever seen.

"Claire, I'm sorry. There's so much you don't understand, but I can't tell you yet. And I'm sorry." He meant it. He set his jaw firmly, and he seemed to be battling with himself. The room was dead silent, the extreme opposite of what it had been a few moments ago.

I cast a sidelong glance at Embry, who was finally looking at Quil with something akin to compassion. Deciding I didn't want to bare my soul in front of him, I grabbed Quil's hand—this time, he didn't pull away—and he allowed me to lead him outside.

"Claire, where are we going?"

"Just walk with me, okay?"

And he did. We walked down the gravel driveway and turned left at the end of it, onto the poorly paved highway. I knew the route well; I ran it every day I spent at Quil's—which was just about every day.

We walked in an awkward silence for a few moments, and I still held firmly onto his hand. I never looked up at him. I kept my eyes straight ahead, thinking hard about what I'd say.

"Quil," I said finally, "I want you to know something, alright?" He nodded, letting me know he was prepared to listen. And that was good, because I had a lot to say. "Look…you've been my friend for as long as I can remember—since before that. We've always told each other everything, but if for some reason you can't tell me this, whatever it is, I understand, okay?"

He took a deep breath and nodded again.

"And I know I've been weird lately. I'm sorry for that. It's just, you know, everybody is so different now. It's like in a matter of weeks, I've gone from being Claire to being, I dunno, this _woman_ that everybody expects so much from, instead of just the girl I've always been. It's so much to deal with. Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily and Embry and even you, you're all freaking out about me turning sixteen. Why? Just clarify that for me; I'll be happy if I can only know that much, Quil," I said. And I meant it. If he didn't want to tell me his secret, or why he was out so late, or why he had ever strayed from the Quil I'd always known, then fine—I'd give him his space. I could do that. I _could_.

He didn't talk for a few minutes. He only squeezed my hand tighter and walked with me. When he did speak, his voice was strained and weary. I didn't want to hear it, but at the same time, I had to know.

"Claire, listen…what you're going through, it's really just a part of growing up. I think it's just different for you because it's happened so suddenly. Sam and Emily, well, it sort of just hit them, you know? I was in the kitchen the day Emily looked at the calendar above the sink, and she said, 'Sam! Claire turns sixteen on the eighth of next month!' I think they knew, for a long time, that you were growing up, Claire, and they just didn't want to admit it to themselves."

"But why not? Other parents and aunts and uncles cry a little or give an embarrassing 'I remember the day you were born' speech! They don't basically put a barbed-wire fence around the house! They don't forbid their children from being alone with the same guy they've known their whole life!" Quil blushed as he probably thought of Sam telling him that he was not to be alone with me—ever. Under no circumstances. And if Sam found out he _had_ been, there would be hell to pay.

"You're different, Claire. You're special to all of us. Special to me," he finished quietly. I stopped walking and gazed up at him.

"Special to you…how?" My heart was racing unbearably fast. I felt sort of faint. And it couldn't have been from just walking, because this was nothing compared to the exercise I usually got. This came from the looks Quil was giving me now. Longing ones, looks with desire and pain…the only word that did them justice was _tormented_. Looks I'd never received from him before—because maybe, just maybe, he was about to tell me all those things I'd been dying to know.

He didn't answer me. I could actually feel my disappointment wash over me like an icy river.

"It's part of your secret, isn't it? It's got to do with that thing you can't tell me."

"What thing, Claire?" he asked, his brow furrowed in frustration. We began to walk again as I tried to think of how I could explain all the things I'd noticed about him without sounding like a stalker-slash-freak-slash-obsessive…weirdo.

"Well, you know…you're just different from other people. First, you're always so warm…" I turned away to hide the blush on my cheeks. He squeezed my hand, urging me to continue. My hand really _was_ warm, because of him. "And then, you're always gone at night, and you tell me you're working, but I've checked, Quil, and there aren't any businesses around here that do the night shift, or that even stay open past nine o'clock. And you get so angry, so quickly—and you start to tremble, and you have to leave. And you only get that angry when I do something. It's like it's only me that makes you…sick or something. Do I make you sick, Quil? Are you…allergic to me, or something?"

Quil actually laughed, out loud, at me. I dropped his hand immediately and crossed my arms against my chest, embarrassed, and looked at the ground. I tried to keep walking, but I felt warm arms around my waist, picking me up. He turned me around to face him, a beautiful, crooked smile stretching across his face.

"Ha! _Allergic_ to you? Claire! Is that what you think? Of course I'm not _allergic_ to you! How could you think such a thing?"

"Well, it hasn't always been that way! Just lately, you act so weird around me. It's like you're afraid to touch me or something!" He paused and held me up so we were at eyelevel, meaning I was several feet off the ground. He pulled me closer to him so that our faces were barely an inch apart. Goosebumps appeared on my skin; my heart did that funny spluttering thing again. Stupid heart. I was going to get a new one, so help me God.

"So, do I look afraid to touch you now?" he asked, his voice low and deep. Something inside me clicked, suddenly. I didn't know what it was, but in that one moment, I felt like I never did need to know what the big secret was. As long as Quil, my lifelong best friend, was this happy, acting like he always had—I'd never need to know. I could _die_ happy, unknowing, ignorant. And_ like_ it. He leaned forward a little farther and whispered in my ear: "And if you wanted to know my secret, you're in luck. Your Uncle Sam told me I'd be free to tell you on your birthday. But not before then."

Yes! Hallelujah! Wait…Uncle Sam? That meant he had to have a hand in it! He was keeping the damned secret from me, too! The feeling of betrayal by my own uncle changed my mind for me—I was going to find out what this secret was. And I was going to find out _soon_.

Quil's expression changed then. His lips parted slightly; I felt his hot, sweet breath caress my face. My heart jumped up to my throat. What was he doing? Why wasn't I stopping him? Oh, God. I'd never been kissed before! And Quil was about to do it! Claire! Stop yourself! Freeze! Think about what's happening, you stupid moron!

_This is QUIL!!!_

"Claire? Is that you?" a familiar voice asked suddenly. My eyes, which I didn't remember closing, snapped open immediately. In the blink of an eye, Quil had set me down and had taken two very large steps in front of me, between me and whoever had called my name. "It's me…Bryan. From the other day." I recognized the name instantly. I stepped out from behind Quil and smiled at Bryan.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" I asked him, looking up at the rather muscular man to my side. Quil tried to keep me behind him, as though he thought Bryan was dangerous. Just another thing to add to the list of unusual things Quil did when it came to me.

"Well, you and your boyfriend were making out in front of my house…so I guess the question is really, 'What are _you_ doing here?' don't you think?" he asked, chuckling, his dimpled smile showing itself again.

"Oh, Quil? No! I mean, Quil is my friend. Just my friend. We were just talking, that's all!" I blurted out. The look on Bryan's face showed curiosity, humor—and was that—_relief_?

"Okay, well, it's nice to meet you, Quil. I'm new here. My name's Bryan," he said, extending his hand, very bravely, I thought, toward the much larger man. Quil glared down at his offered hand as though it was diseased. He took a half-step back.

Bryan's smile didn't falter. "I guess you're shy, then. That's cool. Maybe I'll see you at Claire's party or something," he said, still grinning. Oh no. I hadn't told Quil that I'd invited Bryan.

Quil's hands clenched into tight fists; the tendons were visibly straining beneath the skin. I put a calming hand on his arm and looked at Bryan.

"Yeah, Quil will be there, and I'm glad you've decided to come, too."

"Looking forward to it," Bryan said, and for the first time, I noticed that he was wearing thick gloves and holding a gardening spade. At his feet was the entrance to a short driveway; he'd planted small flowers (hopefully ones that could stand getting rained on everyday) around the sides of it, and he'd done a good job, in my opinion…not that I knew much about planting things. He noticed what I was looking at and smiled wider.

"Don't base your opinion of me on my gardening skills. I'm not very good at it."

"On the contrary, I think you did very well. I love flowers." I said, smiling back at him. Quil scoffed. He, of course, knew that the only time I'd ever tried to grow anything, (a tomato plant in sixth grade) I'd killed it in about six hours. I elbowed him in the stomach. I wondered if he'd felt it.

"Oh. Well, in that case, do you want to see our garden? It's behind the house. It's much larger than this," he said, gesturing first to his home and then to the small flowers beneath him.

"Yeah, I'd love t--"

"Actually, we're on our way home. To my house. Where I will be, for the rest of the evening, sitting on the front porch, with a twelve-gauge, fully-loaded shotgun. And I have a very good aim." It was the first time Quil had spoken, and I'll be damned if it didn't just have to be a threat.

To my immense surprise, Bryan laughed. A genuine laugh. And he'd just been threatened by a man three times his size. Even Quil seemed taken aback.

"Okay, then. If you're busy, maybe some other time?" I was still too shocked to speak, so I nodded, smiled, and grabbed Quil's arm. We began to walk away, but Bryan called out to me again. "Your birthday is next Friday, right? On the eighth?"

"Yeah! I called over my shoulder. At seven! Call me if you need directions!"

Once we were out of earshot, Quil started his rampage.

"You gave him your phone number?! You invited him to your birthday party?! You smiled at him?! You—you—YOU GAVE HIM YOUR _PHONE_ NUMBER?!!?" His face turned the color of my tomato—well, what my tomato _would_ have looked like if I hadn't drowned it.

"Yes, I did! Because he's _my_ friend, because it's _my_ party, and because it's _my_ phone number! All very good reasons! Are you satisfied, Mother?"

Quil glared down at me.

My thoughts strayed to Bryan for a moment. He liked gardening. That was so…different. In a good way. A really good way.

"Claire! Are you listening to me?"

"What? Oh, yeah! Sorry." I looked down, ashamed.

"You were thinking about him, weren't you?" he asked suddenly, his voice no longer angry, but hurt. I glanced up into his wide, dark eyes.

"No, Quil. I was thinking about—your secret. And how you said you'd tell me on my birthday. Is that true?" I said, lying quickly.

"Oh!" he said, looking relieved that I wasn't thinking of Bryan. "Well, yeah. I swore to Sam that I'd keep it from you until you were old enough. You're lucky, though—he wanted to wait until you were eighteen. But we were able to come to an agreement that I think suits everyone very well." He half-smiled down at me, and for a moment, I wondered if _he_ was thinking of Bryan.

I didn't know, but one thing was for sure: I was going to learn Quil's secret, and an extremely beautiful boy was coming to my party next week.

_And this little piggy skip, skip, skipped, all the way home._

……….

End Chapter

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	3. Party Hard

Disclaimer: If it belonged to me, I'd be at Disney World right now instead of writing this disclaimer

**Disclaimer: Totally. Not. Mine.**

**Terribly sorry about the wait! It's just so hard to stick with something when you're busy with so many things!**

Note: I love my fantastic reviewers. If it weren't for you, I'd have just taken this story down. Keep motivating me!

Three: Party Hard

It was five o'clock and I had no idea what to wear to this thing. I wasn't really a girly girl, but this was one situation where I felt the female mind's need to be finicky over what to wear was allowed. Clothes were all over my bedroom floor, dresser, and bed. There was even a skirt hanging over my closet door.

"Claire? What the hell happened to your room?" I spun around and saw the most wonderful sight on the face of the planet.

"Megan!" I exclaimed, jumping across a pile of discarded no-way-am-I-wearing-that outfits to hug her. I pulled back, squeezing her shoulders tightly. "Megan," I said solemnly, glancing once around the room for effect, "please…help me."

Her raised eyebrow said it all. "You're nuts."

"No! I'm not nuts! My stupid sixteenth birthday thing is in TWO hours and I have nothing to wear!" I felt my hair finally fall out of the loose ponytail I'd had it in. I was falling apart. Over clothing. This was an all-time low.

Megan managed to find a pathway through the tangled masses of shirt-sleeves and belts on my floor. She cleared a spot big enough to sit down on my bed, crossed her legs and looked up at me. She was a very small girl, about a foot shorter than me…but she was terrifying due to the fact that she seemed to know _everything_.

"So…" she began, taking in my current attire of sweatpants and ragged t-shirt, "who's the boy?"

"Boy? There's a boy? Nobody told me there was a boy." Damn. I was so busted.

"Claire, you're freaking out over what to wear to a party where most of the people present will be your family. And me. And I hardly doubt that you've got some weird lesbian crush on me. Not that I'd blame you, because I am fine as hell. But logically, all signs point to the fact that there is a boy. So, what is his name?"

See? Terrifying midget of a person. Then it occurred to me that she was my best friend—and maybe the reason I was so worried about my party was because I was having to deal with this stress crap all alone. So I finally told someone about him.

"Bryan. His name is Bryan, and he's sweet and gorgeous and he likes gardening. And he's coming to my party tonight and Quil is gonna kill him, although I don't understand why Quil hates him so much, but Quil is supposed to tell me why tonight. It's some stupid secret thing that he promised Uncle Sam he wouldn't tell me until my sixteenth birthday." I sank down on top of the pile of clothes on my bed next to Megan.

She hadn't moved or even looked infinitesimally surprised.

"You're basically screwed, then," she said in a very supportive statement.

"Yep."

"And you can't find anything to wear because you like to dress for an occasion and you're not sure what this occasion is going to consist of."

"Yep."

"And you've been in here for three hours freaking out over whether or not the gigantic thirty-year-old guy is gonna kill your new crush."

"Yeah. Exactly three hours. Wait, how did you KNOW that?"

"So you need clothes that say, 'Happy birthday to me, I'm screwed, please don't kill him.'"

"…yes…."

Megan stood up, chewed on her thumbnail for a moment while fishing through my clothes…and there it was. She held it up against her so I could see for myself.

"Um…"

"You know you love me."

"You're just plain creepy sometimes, though."

"It's only because I can handle neurotic people. I was raised by two of them. Now go take a shower so we can do something to your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"…"

The phone downstairs rang loudly then, and I pouted at Megan. She rolled her eyes and left to answer it.

I glanced in the mirror at my hair. Oh, yeah. Train wreck.

………………………

There had never been a day in my life when I looked that damn sexy (but still appropriate for a family gathering celebrating sixteen years of my life). Sexy, but not completely wacko-horny-teenager.

I was wearing a simple mid-thigh length jean skirt. Skin tight black leggings that covered from beneath my skirt to just below the knee hid unnecessary skin. A plain white t-shirt with a red sequined tank top over it and cute little red flats to match completed the ensemble. Megan had curled my hair so that it was wild and free-flowing but not too crazy. I had a hatred of makeup so Megan only used a small amount of smoky eye shadow, and black eyeliner. I smeared on just a little Chap Stick and grabbed my purse.

Megan and I buckled into her white '99 Honda and arrived at strangely quiet 8325 Screen Street, the house Uncle Sam had lived in as long as I'd known him.

"Um, Claire…there aren't any cars here."

"I noticed that," I said, becoming nervous. Had I, in my rush to see Bryan and learn Quil's secret, seriously gotten the date of my own freaking party wrong?

"Are we early?"

"No; we're right on time. The party's supposed to start at seven…"

"Let's just go knock on the door. Maybe it's a joke or something."

Very solemnly, we climbed the few steps to the front door and knocked. We waited but heard nothing. I looked at Megan and I could already tell that she was preparing to comfort me if I exploded into confused tears.

Just then we heard someone coming up the drive. I turned and saw Bryan getting off his bicycle, dressed casually in jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his arm.

He seemed to notice, too, the surprising lack of vehicles in the driveway.

"Is that Bryan?" Megan asked quietly.

"Yeah." My voice was raspy.

"Well, go say 'hello.'" She pushed me forward slightly and crossed her arms, showing that she wouldn't move until I did.

I took a deep breath and descended the steps. Bryan saw me and waved.

"Hey!" he called, walking forward, his helmet still tucked under his arm.

"Hi. How are you?" I asked, trying to smile back. His grin never faltered.

"I'm great. With such a crazy crowd, we're gonna party hard, huh?" He winked at me. I couldn't help but laugh. He nodded to Megan behind me. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh! This is my best friend, Megan. Megan, this is Bryan."

She smiled at him. "It's nice to meet you. Claire talks about you all the time."

I made a mental note to kill Megan later. Bryan grinned even wider. Sort of like Quil did whenever I was with him.

"She does? Well, that's good to know. I hope you're not tired of hearing about me; I think my friends back home are probably sick to death of hearing me talk about her." He never took his eyes off mine.

It was completely silent for a minute. Or it could've been an hour. I didn't give a damn as long as he kept looking at me like that.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into his helmet and pulled out a small blue envelope. On the front, it read "Happy Birthday, Claire!"

"You didn't have to get me anything," I mumbled, accepting the present anyway.

"Don't worry, it's not much. I've been trying to get a job but nobody's hiring around here. That's all I could afford," he chuckled, setting his helmet down on the seat of his bike.

Megan elbowed me. "Well, open it!"

"Shouldn't I wait until—?"

"What, until the rest of the guests arrive? Um, Claire—"

"Okay, you're right. I guess I'll open it now." I slipped a finger under the edge of the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a very pretty card that had daisies on the front. I opened the card and something fell out of it. Megan bent and retrieved it for me while I read the inside. "To Claire. Have a wonderful sixteenth birthday. I know your present isn't much, but I hope you'll like it. Congratulations. Your friend, Bryan."

I couldn't control the smile that was so big it hurt my face.

Megan handed me the thing that had fallen out of the card. It was a packet of flower seeds.

"They're pansies," Bryan explained. "They'll do well even if it gets really cold or rains a lot. All you have to do is water them…I figured you'd appreciate it since you said you weren't very good at gardening. I thought…maybe if you wanted me to…I could help you with them."

It was a really thoughtful gift. A gift that could mean more time with him.

"Thank you, Bryan. This is really sweet. And I'd like the help."

"You're welcome, anytime." I could tell he truly meant it.

Then, out of nowhere, we heard the front door to Uncle Sam's house open. We looked to find nobody standing the doorway. Wide-eyed, I looked at my two friends.

"Creepy," Bryan said, nodding.

Very slowly, we made our way to the front door together. Bryan went in front, then me, then Megan. When he was standing in the dark doorway, Bryan called, "Is anybody home?"

He took a few steps inside and Megan and I followed quietly. It was so dark and silent that our breathing seemed to echo. Bryan was searching for the light switch, I was too busy trying to figure out where the guests were, and Megan, having been here before, knew exactly where the light switch was.

As soon as it clicked on:

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLAIRE!"

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest at the shock. Colorful streamers adorned nearly every inch of Uncle Sam's enormous living room. A vast number of balloons covered the entire high ceiling. A four-foot long table was piled high with an assortment of presents. A few people had thrown confetti into the air when Megan had turned on the lights and it fluttered through the air, creating quite a spectacle.

Bryan and Megan were gauging my open-mouthed reaction and laughing their asses off.

"Did you KNOW about this?" I demanded, unable to keep from grinning.

"I did. I've known for a few weeks. Your Aunt Emily told me," Megan said triumphantly.

"I called your cell to ask for directions, and I guess your phone was off, so I called your house phone and Megan answered. She gave me directions and told me that when I got here, there wouldn't be any cars out front, but I was supposed to pretend to be surprised. So I did."

He laughed and I narrowed my eyes in pretend anger at him and Megan.

But I was already surrounded by cheering, screaming, excited family members who were hugging me and smothering me with congratulations. Then, it seemed that the whole room got quiet…and there was Quil, sitting on the couch. It was impossible to miss him.

His deep brown eyes were locked on mine and I couldn't look away. Then he stood to his full, towering height. The crowd seemed to part to make room for him.

Nobody moved, spoke—nobody seemed to breathe.

And then he started toward me.

I was going to piss myself.

…………….

End Chapter

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	4. Whatever Happened?

Disclaimer: If it belonged to me, I'd be at Disney World right now instead of writing this disclaimer

Note: Tremendous thanks to…(drum roll, please!)….devotedtopadfoot!! I'm so glad you liked it enough to review all the chapters. I'll admit that I rarely do that when I read stories! I'm impressed! (insert internet lingo here…LOL or something of the sort)…

**Note 2: Listen to this chapter while listening to "Whatever Happened" by The Strokes. I can't tell you why, but it helped me imagine the party atmosphere quite clearly!**

Four: Whatever Happened?

_I don't wanna be forgotten, and I don't wanna be reminded._

How the hell I ended up there was entirely beyond me.

I'd lived a good life, hadn't I? I didn't go out and get completely wasted and smoke questionable substances and throw eggs at cars and push old ladies out into traffic, did I?

And this was my sixteenth birthday party…I hardly liked big parties at all, but I had to admit, I had a few expectations for this one. And one of those expectations did not include a murderous-looking Quil.

Megan sighed but stayed where she was by my side. I was glad to see that Bryan didn't leave me, either. Instead, I thought I could feel him move a fraction of an inch closer. I could smell that indescribable scent of _boy_. And God, it smelled so good.

I was brutally awakened from my pleasant daydreams of Bryan and me together when a shadow blocked out the many lights of the party. Quil stood still before me, looming like a foreboding rain cloud ready to burst with such force that the earth below it would be destroyed.

Nobody, and I do mean nobody, moved for at least six hours. Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration, but it felt like a hell of a long time. All eyes were on Quil and me; a million pairs of dilated pupils picked apart our expressions, waiting for some crazy, dramatic display, I suspected.

All I could hope for was that he wasn't still mad at me. I'd give up all those presents on that table if he'd forgive me for bringing Bryan. But it was my party, wasn't it? I could invite whoever I wanted, right? Right?

When he moved, I nearly yelped with surprise. (Yeah, I'm _that_ lame.) His arm moved toward me, paused, and remained extended. I would not look at his face. After a moment, he seemed to realize that I wasn't going to respond—so he wrapped that one large arm around me and pulled me up into his chest so hard that the air was knocked out of me. And Quil was everywhere. Soon, both arms were clutching me tightly, so tightly I couldn't breathe. My face was mashed into his shoulder and over it I could see the smiling faces of too many relieved party guests.

In a flash, he'd set me down again and I finally looked him in the eyes. In an instant, my heart felt lighter than whipped cream and warmer than a little boy who'd just pissed himself in public. Quil was smiling at me.

"Happy birthday, Claire," he said softly, a peculiarly gentle expression on his face. My own smile hurt my cheeks (the ones on my face, you perv!)

"Thanks, Quil…it means a lot to me," I said, finishing quietly. I knew he'd understand that I also meant I appreciated him not tackling Bryan.

"You're welcome. Oh…meet me right here at nine, okay? I have something to tell you." Oh yes, he did. And I would not let him forget it, either.

"Well, Claire, I'm about starved to death. Let's get food. Like, right now," Megan said, already walking toward a table of food I hadn't even seen before. I smiled once more at Quil and grabbed Bryan's shirt sleeve to pull him along with us.

The party was soon in full-swing; the awkwardness between me and Quil was forgotten by the guests. I'd told Aunt Emily the day before that Bryan was coming, but I noticed that all my family gave him the strangest looks—not like he was unwelcome, but like he wasn't expected at all. It was unsettling, but thankfully, he didn't seem to notice it or he just shrugged it off. Another thing to add to the list of things I really liked about him.

Megan could eat more than a pregnant blue whale when food was around. And that was when she wasn't even hungry. Aunt Emily had really put herself out (I'd definitely be thanking her later) by making a ton of finger sandwiches, cookies, and punch. There were also chips, sliced vegetables, candy and an unbelievable chocolate fountain for dipping strawberries. I'd never seen so much food at once in my life (before Megan massacred it).

Bryan said he wasn't hungry yet, but he did have a chocolate-covered strawberry and he promised to eat some birthday cake later. I hadn't seen it yet, but Aunt Emily told me that she was saving that for when it was really dark. I jokingly asked if that was because it lit up or something, but she said no—it was because she was horrible at decorating cakes.

Aunt Emily said we were supposed to have the dancing outside, but a storm had come up and they'd had to move the stereo equipment inside the house. The huge stereo in the corner of the room was blaring up-tempo music and everyone was having a blast dancing. Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily were dancing together slowly, even though the song was very fast. Kim and Jared were either dancing or having epileptic fits, I couldn't be sure. Jacob was chatting with his girlfriend, Rhi, and looking at her like she was the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Which brings me back to—

"Hey, birthday girl. You're not gonna stand there and watch everybody else have fun all night, are you?" Bryan asked, the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his slim jeans. He'd rolled the long sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows. He was smiling down at me, and the lighting only further illuminated his intense eyes.

"Uh," I replied ever so intelligently, "…nah." And that is how one makes oneself look like a dumbass.

"Good. Then dance with me, because I'm beginning to get bored. You know what they say about a good hostess," he said, offering his hand to me.

"They…never let their guests get bored?"

"Exactly."

And then we were dancing. Half an hour passed, and then a whole one. Then another half hour, and before I knew it, it was 8:45. The excited crowd was only growing louder and more rowdy (I'd be surprised as hell if someone hadn't spiked the punch) and Bryan and I had been basically pushed back toward the front door. It was fine, though, because I had to meet Quil there in fifteen minutes, anyway. He was nowhere to be seen.

The first slow song of the night came on. The bass was very loud so it was hard to hear the words, but that was okay because I wasn't even paying attention to them. I was afraid it would be awkward when Bryan slow danced with me, but he very easily pulled me closer and placed his hands on my lower back. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed the side of my face into his neck and felt his chin resting lightly on top of my head. He smelled _so_ damn good; I didn't even notice when the first song faded into the second, or when the second melted into the third. I especially didn't care that the fourth was a fast song again.

After another minute of just swaying to the music, I looked up and caught him staring at me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I tried to put my face into his shoulder, but he removed one hand from my back and, faster than I could've blinked, slipped it under my jaw. I was so surprised that my head snapped up—and my rising chin smashed into his descending lips.

This was completely normal for me. He, however, was slightly unprepared.

"OW!" he cried, his hand flying up to his mouth. His eyes squinted shut and he looked like he was really in pain, but he kept one arm around me. I was so totally ashamed that I only gaped in horror.

"I-I-you-I-oh-my-oh-my-oh!"

"It's okay, Claire. I'm fine. See?" he said, removing his hand from his lip. It was red and a little puffy, but not bleeding. "It may hurt like hell, it may be gushing blood and I may bleed to death. But I can't complain, can I?" he said, smiling slightly. He winced, though. I was such a freaking idiot.

"You can't?" I breathed, still horrified.

"Nope. I'm here with you, aren't I?" He could tell that that didn't help at all. He sighed. "Here," he offered, grabbing my hand and very, very gently placing my fingertips against his swollen lip. "See? That doesn't even hurt. I'm fine, see?" He slowly took his hand away, but mine remained. He wrapped both arms around me again and I got lost in how his lips felt so warm and smooth beneath my hand. I forgot all about my family being there, about the loud, thumping music, about Quil and his infuriating secret, about being sixteen and cake and presents and dancing. I hardly noticed when he drew so close to me that I could smell a delicious, chocolate-covered strawberry on his breath.

I let my hand slip down and rest on his shoulder. He tilted his head, parted his lips, moved closer—his eyes fluttered closed; I inhaled.

Then all the lights and the music went out with loud feedback from the speakers, ripping me away from possibly the best kiss I'd never have. I looked, somewhat dizzy, to my left and saw Aunt Emily coming out of the dark kitchen, carefully balancing a beautiful cake with a thousand lit sparklers in her arms. Bad at decorating cakes, my ass.

The entire room erupted into a loud chorus of "Happy Birthday to You!" and Bryan seemed to disappear. I felt just a little more than devastated. Aunt Emily approached me and stopped right in front of me. I was completely surrounded by everyone I cared so much about. The sparklers lit up Aunt Emily's face, and the faces of those nearby. The last note of the song still hung in the air.

"Blow these out and make a wish!" my aunt cried, tears of joy shining in her eyes.

It became dead silent as I looked around, straining to see all the smiling faces, trying to find Bryan. I made a wish for the rain to stop so he wouldn't have to ride his bike home in the rain and blew out the sparklers. The cheering was deafening as the lights were flicked back on. It was then that I saw Quil.

Standing at the top of Uncle Sam's stairs, with the best view of where I was standing…at the front door…where, moments ago, with the lights still on, I'd been about to have my first kiss with a boy with perfect (if somewhat swollen) lips.

A little light bulb much brighter than the crackling sparklers went off somewhere in my brain. He'd seen _everything_. And he'd stood right there and done absolutely nothing to stop me.

And you may not believe me, but I would swear every day for the rest of my life that it's true: Quil Ateara had honest-to-God, plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face, heart-wrenching tears in his eyes.

And _I_ had put them there.

While everyone was busy screaming and throwing confetti and tearing into my birthday cake, I turned and fled. Out the front door, out into the pouring rain, down the driveway and across the road into the woods. And I ran at full speed, so glad of the pouring rain so that not even the trees could laugh at me for crying.

……………

End Chapter

Yeah, sad. You know what's more depressing? When you read and don't REVIEW! )


	5. You Would Kill For This

Disclaimer: If it belonged to me, I'd be at Disney World right now instead of writing this disclaimer

Note: This chapter is dedicated to xXblackheartzXx and sweetfatima for their mind-blowing appreciation of this story. I'm so thankful for my reviewers. You guys are the greatest anywhere. I'm giving you a huge cyber hug right now.

**Note 2: For the remaining chapters of this story, I shall have a song for each. It just helps to listen to them while reading, I think. This chapter's song fits very perfectly. It is called "Existentialism on Prom Night" by Straylight Run. I highly recommend hearing it. It's a beautiful song.**

Five: You Would Kill For This

_Sing me something soft_

_Sad and delicate—or_

_Loud and out of key_

_Sing me anything._

Your legs can only carry you so far when they've been holding you up while you danced all night. Unlike in those weird, depressing movies that I know everyone has seen before, I wasn't stumbling blindly through the woods, sobbing and having my face torn at by thorny vines and vicious tree limbs. I didn't collapse in a heap, crying into my hands and feeling utterly alone and sorry for myself. I wasn't lost; I'd played in these woods many, many times as a child. But I did make it so far away from Uncle Sam's house that I could no longer hear the incredible noise of the party or any traffic on the street. All I could hear was my own heart pounding, the raucous thunder above me and the rain dripping from leaf to leaf as it filtered down through the trees.

It just wasn't fair, you know?

I'd been dealing with so much stress as of late. The party was the culmination of everything I thought I'd been waiting for. I was going to learn Quil's secret and make Bryan fall madly in love with me. I was going to let loose and have fun for once. Most importantly, I was going to figure out why everyone had been treating me so strangely the past few weeks.

It was as though my growing up was upsetting the delicate balance upon which the spinning of the world depended.

I looked around me and realized that I'd have known exactly where I was—if it hadn't been completely freaking dark outside.

_I'd like to thank the academy. It takes a lot of careful planning and pure genius to put oneself in predicaments such as these.  
_

I sighed and sat down on the muddy ground. My clothes were ruined (and I thanked God that I didn't care about my clothes for the first time that day) and I had no idea where I was. This was turning out to be one hell of a wonderful birthday.

Why had I panicked so badly? So Quil was upset. Big deal! It wasn't my fault that I liked Bryan. And it wasn't as if Quil and I were…_together_ or anything. We couldn't ever be, because he was, like, thirty years old! That meant he was a freshman in high school when I was born! And Bryan was absolutely wonderful. He was nothing but kind to me. He was beautiful, smart, and into gardening for Christ's sake. The vision of perfect!

The rain began to come down even harder, if that was possible, so that the trees provided very little shelter. They were swaying fiercely with the wind and I could've sworn that the temperature had dropped ten degrees since I'd left Uncle Sam's house. The only light came from the moon, half-hidden by thick, ominous rain clouds. My heart began to beat faster again, adrenaline coursing through me. I had NOT gotten lost out here. That was just plain dense.

I stood up and put my back to the moon, since I'd walked toward it to get here. I tripped once and whatever I'd caught my foot on made a weird growling noise, so my stupid ass made a run for it. I rain head first into a tree and decided that running in the dark was a very bad idea. The thunder got louder, the rain came down harder and the lightning got closer and closer. It struck a tree ten feet from me and the giant trunk collided with the ground so hard that it shook even more rain from the leaves of surrounding trees.

My face grew hot just from embarrassment. My arms shook because of my fried nerves. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something pleasant…something beautiful…and warm…

"Claire! Don't move! I'm coming!"

Quil!

I didn't make a noise; I was too surprised and humiliated at being caught like that to do much more than open my eyes. But there, in the pitch-black, howling night, Quil Ateara found me, trembling and soaked.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Claire? You'll probably get pneumonia or something! You've got Sam and Emily worried to death!" he said while wrapping a very thick, warm blanket around me. He pulled me up into his arms, generating even more heat, and cradled me like a baby.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Quil. I wasn't thinking, I guess…"

"You're a complete mess. This is just disgusting, okay? All the work Sam and Emily and everybody put into your birthday and this is how you repay them? This day meant a lot to _everybody_, not just _you_." He plunged angrily through the forest, his footsteps nearly as loud as the thunder.

"I said I was sorry," I whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over. I knew I'd messed up royally, but things hadn't been just fine and dandy for me lately. I couldn't stand that Quil, one of the most important people in my world, was yelling at me. Then, I felt something wet fall onto my forehead. I knew it wasn't a raindrop; I'd felt those on my skin for the past thirty minutes and they were freezing cold. I strained to see Quil's face in the darkness. I reached one hand up tentatively to his face—and he was crying.

"Quil! What's wrong? You were doing this at the party--"

"Don't worry about it."

"You don't tell me what to do, okay? What's got you so upset?"

"You KNOW, Claire."

"If it's Bryan, then—then—you know what? You have no right to--"

"I have every right."

"Stop fucking interrupting me! Will you just listen?"

I didn't realize how quickly he'd gotten us back. He kicked open the front door to Uncle Sam's house and I was surprised to see that the main room was entirely empty, with the exception of Aunt Emily. As soon as she saw me, she jumped up from the sofa, shaking with nerves, and clutched my face in her hands. Quil still held me in his arms.

"Claire! Thank God."

"Where is everyone?" I asked hoarsely. Aunt Emily wiped a strand of wet hair off my forehead.

"They're out looking for you. As soon as Quil said he saw you run out into the rain, everyone ran behind the house, where the cars were hidden, and piled into them—and just took off…"

"Where's Bryan?" I asked, worried.

"He's gone, too. He was one of the first to leave." Quil's arms tightened around me.

"Emily, I'm going to take her upstairs and help her get washed up. It shouldn't take long, okay?"

"Okay…good. I have to call Sam and let him know…" Aunt Emily drifted into the kitchen in a daze. Quil looked down at me.

"You really have everyone worried sick, Claire," he said in a disapproving tone. His eyes were bloodshot and wet.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, averting my eyes. Quil didn't speak again. He carried me up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. He closed the door with his foot and set me down on the large bed. The bathroom door was wide open; he went inside and I could hear him turn on the faucet in the tub. I could almost feel the welcome steam rising from the water.

He came back out of the bathroom and looked me up and down. I knew I must've looked terrible, wet and shivering and wrapped in an old blanket. Quil sighed and came to sit beside me on the bed. He took one of my hands in his; the intense heat scorched my skin. Suddenly, I couldn't take it any longer.

"Why are you always so warm, Quil? Why? And how can you find me in the dark, when I don't call out for you? And why does Bryan upset you so much?"

He put a finger to my lips to stop me then. He couldn't look at me. My heart even seemed to hurt, so I bit my lip to think of something else.

"Claire…I will tell you everything, like I promised, okay? But only after you've taken a bath and put on dry clothes. That's the deal."

Quil left the room for a moment and came back with sweatpants, a t-shirt and clean underwear. I thanked him, ran into that bathroom, peeled off my clothes and jumped into the bathtub. The water was hot, but not hot enough to induce pain. When I climbed out of the tub, every muscle felt as though it had been massaged by very talented fingers. I breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped a dry towel around me.

I dressed quickly and strode out of the bathroom to find Quil still sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands and fingers interlaced and a worried look on his face. I bent over so that my hair fell off my shoulders and wrapped the bath towel around it. I stood up and adjusted the towel so that it stayed on top of my head.

"So," I began, placing my hands on my hips, "tell me everything. Tell me now."

He didn't speak or look at me, so I sat down beside him, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I sighed loudly, trying to prompt him to answer me. He licked his lip and turned to me, a barely-there smile on his lips.

"You have no idea…how long I've wanted to tell you this, Claire. It's just forbidden, you know…"

"No, I don't know. That's why I asked you to explain," I said slowly, smiling and trying to lighten the mood. My stupid heart was doing that erratic beating thing again.

"Yeah. I know. Okay, well then…Claire," he said, taking my hands into his and looking at me with a completely nervous expression, "I don't know how to say this, and I hope you won't see me any differently after I do...I want you to know that all these years of being your friend have meant the whole world to me, and if it's what you want, I'll go on being your friend forever. It's all up to you."

"O…kay…?" Was that the freaking secret? I felt strangely disappointed. I should've been happy, but…I felt so empty suddenly. "Is…that it?"

"No, Claire," Quil chuckled. "I'm going to tell you, okay? Just give me a second." I nodded and watched as he blinked, bit his lip, turned my hands over in his, smiled at me, frowned at me, and sighed. He did that nearly twenty times before he looked at me with blazing determination.

"Claire…I…am a werewolf."

Oh, well. That was absolutely nothing. I mean, so he turns into a gigantic mythical monster every now and then. No biggie. Phew.

...

_Wait, WHAT?_

End Chapter

I know. Terrible place to end a chapter. And I'm not gonna be able to update until I get back from the beach. (sigh) Wow, I'm evil. Give me reviews so I'll repent!!


	6. I Waited Fourteen Years

Disclaimer: It ain't mine. Depressing, I know.

Note: I am really sorry it took me so long to update this damn thing. I'm just really caught up in things right now—school and colorguard. Whew. Forgive me? Yay!

**Song for this chapter—"Yours to Hold" by Skillet.**

Six: I Waited Fourteen Years 

_Every single day_

_I find it hard to say_

_I could be yours alone_

_You will see someday_

_That all along the way_

_I was yours to hold._

"Claire, are you breathing?"

A.D.D. from Hell. I snapped back into it.

"Okay, Quil, there are some things you definitely need to rethink. Such as the use of illegal drugs…and I'm taking away every aerosol can in your house…you gotta cool it with the sniffing--"

"Claire, I'm not high right now."

"Well, you know what? I think…here's what I think. I-I think…you're REALLY freaking high."

Quil sighed. He ran one gigantic hand through his short, dark hair and gazed at me with a thoughtful expression. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Look, I know I pissed you off with the whole running-away-from-the-party thing, but I think we're both a little too old for the practical jokes, Quil. I'm not in the mood right now, okay?" Especially not since I felt that disappointed. I thought he'd been about to tell me something important. I could literally feel my buzz wearing down.

I was looking down at my lap when he took my hands in his scorching fingers. Something about the subtle trepidation with which he held onto me made me look at him curiously.

I looked into his eyes. They stared right back into mine, and they were full of truth, and hope, and love…and so many emotions at one time that I suddenly couldn't look at him anymore. My stomach flipped over like a canoe with a really fat guy in it.

"Claire…" he whispered, lowering his head to mine. I could smell trees, fresh air, soft earth and the wonderful scent of Quil's soap all at once. It was a clean and pure smell and it cleared my head. Until I caught a whiff of his breath.

"Jesus, Quil! You need a mint or something."

"Oh…well my mouth's dry. I'm nervous."

"I can tell!" And I didn't mean to be so rude, but I was nervous too, for some reason. His breath didn't really smell that bad…but Quil never acted this way with me. It was never so tense, so serious…he usually revealed that he was joking by now.

"I just want you to be open-minded, okay?"  
"You're asking me to believe that you morph into some kind of dangerous furry wolf thing whenever there's a full moon! I'd have to be more than open-minded to buy that! I'd have to be a-a nutcase!" I made a very insane gesture with my hand. Quil looked at me like my eyeball had fallen out. He was silent for a moment. He was summing me up, gauging my reaction. He took a deep breath.

"First of all, the whole 'full moon' thing is a myth. I can change whenever I want to…and I'm not very furry, either, because I cut my hair the other day, you know. And I'm not dangerous, Claire," he whispered, squeezing my hand gently, "not to you. Never to you."

For a moment, I couldn't help but want to believe it. It made sense! I was sure it would explain so many of Quil's quirks…it would be a huge weight lifted from my shoulders, just to have everything explained.

Oh _God_. He was loopy and it was contagious.

I ripped my hand out of his and crossed the room to lean against the wall. He looked hurt and for a moment, I felt badly, but then I thought about this cruel joke he was playing on me and I forgot my remorse. But Hell, if he could dish it out, I could take it, and throw some of it back.

"Fine. So you're a werewolf. A werewolf with a buzz cut. A cuddly, safe werewolf with a buzz cut. So…prove it, then." I said this a little smugly as I crossed my arms and smiled at him. His eyes widened for a moment; he knew he'd been caught.

He'd have to admit he was joking, now.

To my surprise, he stood up from the bed and pulled his shirt over his head. He began to carefully fold it, as though it were made of priceless material. I knew why he did it, too. To bide his time, to distract me. As he folded one sleeve over the other, he said, "Claire, for reasons I can't explain to you yet, I can't deny you anything—and I mean that very literally. So I'll prove this to you, but only if you promise me that once I've shown you, you'll stop looking at me like I'm a leper."

I rolled my eyes.

"Promise me," he urged. I was going to ignore him, but for some strange reason, he looked like he really needed me to promise. So I did.

"Fine. Just do it already. My head hurts."

Quil froze in place and just watched me for a minute. He didn't move, except for a weird trembling in his arms. He didn't seem to be breathing. I made an impatient noise and flipped my head over where I couldn't see him. I unwound the towel from my hair and rubbed it against my scalp vigorously, drying it as much as I could before I stood up again.

And there was a freaking wolf on the bed.

It wasn't an ordinary wolf. It was larger and more frightening than a normal wolf, but also infinitely more beautiful. There had to be a hundred different shades of brown woven through his short, soft-looking fur. He was neat and clean—not a speck of dirt on him. He seemed almost regal, almost comfortable—almost _human_.

It was still a freaking wolf, though. I couldn't feel my legs to run away, so I resorted to screaming.

"UNCLE SAM! UNCLE SAM UNCLE SAM UNCLE SAM OH MY _GOD_—"

And in an instant, the wolf leapt from the bed and had me against the wall; his front paws rested lightly on my shoulders. He hadn't hurt me at all, and I would've screamed again, if it weren't for his eyes.

They were deep and wide, sparkling and excited. Full of emotions…and the way the light reflected off them…their rich brown color…

The wolf whined and tilted his head, staring at me. He whined again and it sounded an awful lot like "_Claire_!" He even had an _expression_. It was pleading and soft…in no way hostile or threatening.

If I had told this to anyone, they'd have said, "Now, if that would've happened to me, I wouldn't have been freaking crazy enough to think a damn animal had an expression, that it was saying my name, that it was not about to eat me. I would have run away. Why didn't you run, you stupid girl?"

That was the question I asked myself, the things I told myself. I wasn't allowed to believe this, because not only was it utterly impossible, it was just plain freaky. But it could still be a coincidence; maybe there just happened to be a domestic wolf hidden behind the bed, with Quil's eyes, and Quil had jumped out the window as soon as the wolf had come sauntering out, when I'd had my back turned for three seconds…

_And_ the wolf was intelligent enough to know how to stop me from screaming without hurting me…

My knees knocked together and the monster backed away on all four paws. His mouth hung slightly open, his tongue hanging out one side in a sort of goofy way. His brown eyes still sparkled, hopeful now. He glanced toward the door, but didn't block it. He was going to let me _run away_. His dinner. Through the door. Pfft, gone!

I looked at the door for a moment, trying to straighten up. I took a few deep breaths and contemplated running. All I could think about was, "This is a wolf. It lives in the forest. It has very sharp teeth. And when it gets hungry, it kills and eats defenseless little animals and small children." This particular creature looked like it could eat an elephant.

But I remembered something I'd read about dogs before—they could smell fear. So I put on the bravest face I could muster and relaxed my muscles. Very quickly, before I could think it through, I sat down on the floor and crossed my legs. I moved about as much as the Statue of Liberty.

The beautiful, terrifying wolf slowly padded over to me; my heart beat frantically in my chest when he sniffed at my hair and neck. He seemed to hear it, though, and to avoid frightening me with further inspection, he lowered his head to my lap. He playfully licked one of my hands and buried his muzzle into it.

And he didn't even smell like a wolf. He smelled—oh, I'd lost it, then—he smelled _just_ like Quil.

Unthinkingly, I plunged my hand into the fur on his massive neck. It was thick and warm. He licked my arm to show his appreciation. His eyes locked onto mine and I couldn't stop staring. He was just so _beautiful_.

In a matter of seconds, the fur seemed to dissolve away, and the face seemed to shrink and become more rounded. I never took my eyes away from his, but I could see with my peripheral vision that his body was shrinking. My hand stayed in place on his neck, but I could suddenly no longer feel the fur. Smooth, hot skin burned into my palm. The skin of Quil Ateara's exposed neck.

I'd always known that Quil was beautiful, too. But now that I looked at him—really, truly _looked_ at him—I realized that that was an understatement. He was mesmerizing. And he was so _close_ to me.

He reached out one hand and put it behind my head. I could feel the heat of his palm through my hair, on my scalp. It burned, but not in an uncomfortable way. It actually felt kind of nice.

"Claire…how are you feeling?" he asked, and his voice was very low. His expression was cautious but still hopeful.

"I'm…uh…" What were the words? "…I'm blown away." Absolutely and completely _blown_ away. His mouth stretched into a surprised smile. Maybe he'd expected me to have a wild, crazy-lady seizure. For a minute, I was angry…and then flooded with embarrassment when I realized the shorts he'd been wearing were lying in shredded fragments on the ground.

I couldn't help but look (and you _so_ would have, too) and I saw that his body was toned, russet-colored, and practically flawless except for the few scars that were dotted across his skin. He was like one of those statues that the Romans carved of the ideal man. And then there was something else…I felt my cheeks grow hot.

He seemed to realize what I'd seen, because he immediately covered himself.

"Sorry, Claire. I was so nervous about telling you the truth that I forgot about the shorts. It won't happen again." It was hilarious to see this man, who'd just shown himself to be a werewolf, in a state of humiliation. Giggling, I moved my hand from his neck to his face. He froze and his gaze locked on mine again.

"Don't worry about it, Quil. It didn't freak me out." I hoped he understood that I meant that about the werewolf thing, too.

"You're really okay with this, then?" He really did sound shocked. Shocked and terribly happy.

"Okay with what, the free glimpse of your manliness? Sure." He laughed. "But no…I mean….I don't know." And I really didn't. There just weren't any words, and I hated that, because I always had something to say. But I was okay with it, that much I knew. It would take some getting used to; I'd always dismissed the stories of werewolves as fiction. Finding out they were real was mind-boggling. Movies about this sort of thing would really freak me out now.

I just had one question.

"So…wait…are you—I mean, I don't want to sound rude or anything—but what do you e-eat? Do you…oh, damn it…"

"Do we eat humans?" Quil asked, and his smile was broad and loving.

"…yeah. Do you?" I prayed calmly (if an angry, screaming pregnant lady craving chocolate can pass as calm) in my head that he didn't.

"Nope. I eat a lot of junk food in human form. I rarely ever eat in wolf form. It's not very pleasant. But when I do, it's basically deer or elk. I hate chasing the smaller game. It's so much work for so little meat—" he cut off at the end and looked warily at me, afraid that he'd upset me. Quickly, I brushed it off.

"Oh, well…that explains where all the potato chips go, then. And the hot dogs. And the Twinkies."

"Ah, the Twinkies…yes…" and he got a faraway expression on his face. I laughed again and somehow…I felt perfectly fine. I couldn't be normal. Any normal person would've jumped out the window by now. Or pissed themselves. Or fainted.

But there I was, having a pleasant conversation with my long-time-best-friend-slash-werewolf about his diet. And I was completely happy. Maybe it was because I wasn't in the dark anymore. Well, not completely. There was one thing he'd yet to explain.

"So, okay. I guess this explains where you go at night, and why you're so big, and I guess why you're warm…?" I wondered aloud. He nodded.

"Our body temperatures are higher than a human's. You're very observant."

"I don't really have to pay too much attention to realize I could fry an egg on your face." I grinned at him and he smiled back even more brilliantly. But back to the problem.

"But…there's one more thing I want to know. Why…why are you so protective of me? I mean, of course, you're protective of everyone. Jacob and Embry, especially. But with me, it's different. It's very obvious. I think everyone must notice it, but they shrug it off like it's nothing. It's just not normal, though, is it? Even my mother doesn't hover over me like you do!" I said, mock-punching him at the end so he wouldn't be embarrassed. He chuckled quietly.

"That's…another part of being a werewolf." His eyes were downcast. Oh, no. Another secret.

"Are you going to explain it?" I asked after a minute. My heart began to beat faster again, and I didn't know why. He looked up at me curiously. Could he seriously hear my pulse quicken?  
He stayed frozen in place; his eyes stared at a point beyond my head and only his lips moved.

"I don't think…that right now is the best time to go into all that. You've still got to process the werewolf thing, Claire. I don't want you to go into shock. I'm surprised you haven't, yet."

"There is no 'yet,' Quil. I'm fine. Really, truly fine. But I want to know everything and I want to know it _now_. I've waited long enough." My tone became harsher toward the end, and I hadn't intended for that to happen; I was just getting frustrated again. "I'm sixteen today, and getting older by the second."

Under his breath, Quil mumbled, "I'm not."

Holy freaking crap…_again_!

"What did you say?" I asked breathlessly.

"I said," Quil began, clearing his throat, "I'm not getting any older, Claire. Not until I want to. Not until I'm ready." This new bit of information definitely had my head spinning.

"So…wait…Quil, I don't understand…how long have you been…how old are you? Thirty? Fifty? A…a hundred?" My voice broke at the end. I couldn't have been duped into thinking a one-hundred year old man was in his early thirties…right?

"Thirty-two, actually, Claire." Oh, thank God. I could deal with thirty-two. Thirty-two was a good, healthy number. The most wonderful number ever. "I was eighteen when I first saw you. And I waited fourteen years for you to be old enough…" His voice trailed off at the end and immediately a new inquisitiveness burned within me.

"Old enough for what, Quil? To tell me this? About you being a werewolf?"

He didn't speak for a moment. His eyes widened as though he realized he'd said too much.

"That's not it, is it? You could have told me about this when I was younger and I could've grown up knowing it. That would've been easier. So what is it that I couldn't know until now? Tell me…please?"

The hand I still kept on his face slowly traced his cheekbone. He wouldn't look at me.

"It's complicated, Claire. And I would've told you about me being a werewolf when you were younger…it's just that you…you _talk _so much, Claire. We thought that, with you being so young, you wouldn't know any better than to go tell the world about our secret—"

"_Our_ secret? As in, plural? As in…oh! Jake! And Embry! And _Uncle_ _Sam_!" Quil didn't speak. But then I remembered what he said about me talking so much, and I blushed. "I know I have times where I can't shut up, Quil…but I never would've—I wouldn't dream of…"

Okay, so he'd caught me. If I had been younger and more of an idiot than I was now, I probably would've told everyone that my best friend was a werewolf, because honestly, how freaking cool was that? Scary, yeah, but still cool. And I bet nobody else had a werewolf best friend. Quil seemed to be able to read the expression on my face.

He laughed at me and I blushed again. His hand stroked my hair.

"You're so crazy, Claire." My cheeks grew even hotter. But I wouldn't let him forget about my question.

"Yeah, yeah. But, Quil…since we're getting everything out in the open now…is you being a werewolf the 'thing' that is so complicated that I had to grow up to learn about? The thing you still won't fill me in on?" His face answered my question. No. His brow wrinkled worriedly and he dropped his gaze again. His arms trembled, about to crack. I wanted an answer, and like he said, he couldn't deny me anything. Realizing how close I was to learning everything, the questions began to pour out of me. His brown eyes locked onto mine, piercing and blazing with determination.

"Quil, why _are_ you so protective of me? Why do you hate Bryan so much? And why do you follow me everywhere? And why do you look at me like that, the way you're looking at me now—"

Burning lips crushed into mine, my last question still hanging in the air.

…………

End Chapter

Love it…hate it…help me improve it? Review! I love you.


	7. Bittersweet Valentine

Disclaimer: If it belonged to me, I'd be at Disney World right now instead of writing this disclaimer

**Song for this chapter: "Violet Hill" by Coldplay.**

Seven: Bittersweet Valentine

_I took my love down to violet hill_

_There we sat in snow_

_All that time she was silent still._

_So if you love me_

_Won't you let me know?_

The shock of how blazing hot his lips were rendered me incapable of coherent thought. My mind was full of words that I couldn't form into questions. All I could really think was "!!"

What had I been about to say? Something about…kissing? No, you idiot! _Something_ like…freaking…shit. No, not shit. I definitely had not been thinking about that. I hoped. That would have been way, way weird. Who thinks about that, anyways? Besides people with weird fetishes? God, he tasted like chocolate. His hands were everywhere. Mmm…oh Jesus Christ! Did I just _moan_?? Out _loud_? Frick!

The instant I stopped kissing him back (when, exactly, had I started?) he dropped his hands and put at least four feet of distance between us. He was panting—this man, whom I'd seen run two miles to the store down the street and back, not at all winded—he was out of breath. And he was looking at me like he'd never really seen me before that moment. His eyes were darker, desirous. His arms trembled. His lips were a hair's breadth apart and the tendons in his neck strained against his skin. Everything about him screamed louder than a neon sign that he wanted to jump my bones.

What was that feeling in my stomach? It was so intense, I kind of felt nauseated…in a way that I didn't mind. I scrambled for something to say.

"Claire, I have to tell you something," he gasped, speaking a thousand miles a minute.

"Oh-oh-okay. Go ahead." My voice! Holy crap! It was scratchy and filled with…horniness! _Oh, the horror! _Quil's eyes drilled into mine.

"Okay," he breathed, but he didn't say anything else. He seemed to struggle with himself again. Then, he swallowed hard and his hands clenched into fists—he was bracing himself for something. "Claire, I love you." And he said it so passionately, with a sort of ache to it, that it boggled my mind again. I tried to pretend I thought he meant it in a friendly way.

"I love you, too, Quil. You know that…"

He was shaking his head. Damn. There was no easy way out of this.

"No, Claire," and his voice became weary. "I mean…that I love you. Like…how Sam loves Emily, and Jared loves Kim…I can't be without you, Claire. Loving you is my only purpose anymore. It wasn't, before I saw you, but as soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew I loved you more than I've ever loved anything."

Oh, God. Wait a minute…

"Quil…the first time you saw me, I was _two years old_." I tried not to cringe.

"It was a different kind of…admiration, then, Claire. But it was love all the same. It's changed now, though. I don't just want to make you happy. I want to be the _reason_ you're happy. I want…I want _you_, Claire."

Something warm and not entirely unpleasant filled my stomach. I stared at Quil's face, looking for any sign that he was joking. I sort of prayed he was, but for some inexplicable reason, I hoped he wasn't. I tried to shove that thought out of my mind.

"Say something," he pleaded, beginning to look worried.

There was only one thing you could say that would please someone after they've confessed to being in love with you. You have to say, "I'm in love with you, too." But was that the truth? And if it wasn't, could I lie to Quil? I couldn't break him. He was like the other half of me. If something hurt Quil, it would hurt me, too. I could pretend, for him, couldn't I? And who knows? I might learn to accept it.

A very selfish thought crossed my mind: _What about Bryan?_

I knew I wanted him, and I was pretty sure he wanted me. I instantly felt the desolation as I realized that I was going to have to hurt one of them. And I had to do it now.

I thought of Quil: To lose him would be to lose a part of myself.

And of Bryan: Just rip off the band-aid before it has a chance to really get attached to my skin.

Say something, Claire. Say _anything_, Claire. Stop being so dramatic and _suck it up_ and—

Quil took my hand then, and the warmth of his skin on mine forced my mind into super focus mode. My head spun. A million flashbacks hit me in one second.

My birthday, it was princess-themed. Quil wore a crown.

At the beach, Jacob had been there. I wanted a green rock. Quil found me a handful of rocks, all different shades of green.

Fifth grade, on Quil's shoulders at the zoo. He wouldn't me go on the field trip without him. He was afraid one of the monkeys would get me.

The sun at the one and only pool party I'd ever gone to (Quil wouldn't let me go to that alone, either)—not nearly as warm and pleasant as Quil's skin.

Quil…defending me, saving me, wiping away my tears, cleaning up my scraped knee, playing dress up, tickling me, smiling at me, holding me, rocking me to sleep, finding me hours ago, freezing cold in the woods…

…Now, telling me he was in love with me. Depending on me to not break his heart.

The offending butterflies withered and died as I made my decision.

I stood up and left the room, leaving a confused Quil behind me.

In a daze, I made my way down the stairs and into the main room. Party decorations seemed vaguely ironic now. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

Uncle Sam was there, and Aunt Emily, and a few of the guests. Emily must've told them I'd been found and they'd come back. Uncle Sam's eyes zeroed in on me. Everyone had stopped to stare, to be sure I was alright, but he was looking for something else. He was searching for new knowledge in my face. He wanted to know if Quil had told me. Instantly, he found his answer.

"Okay, everyone. The party's over. Thank you for coming…" he said, not taking his eyes off me. Using my peripheral vision, I saw that Bryan was not in the crowd of the returned guests. He must have decided that I wasn't worth coming back for and gone home.

I distantly realized that the mumbling, muttering crowd of people began to file out. Uncle Sam's gaze was unwavering. As soon as the final pair of footsteps and the last car's humming engine had driven out of earshot, Sam was upon me.

"Claire, are you okay? How are you taking it? Do you feel sick? Dizzy? Speak, Claire." He sounded like a doctor. Ah. But he'd been through this before. I looked at Emily. I wondered how she'd handled it.

Probably better than me.

There was a knock on the door; it wasn't loud and it wasn't soft, but it did sound kind of urgent. I couldn't be sure, because at the moment, I was half-crazed with everything I was dealing with all at once. Slowly, slowly, Uncle Sam made a "stay there" gesture and he walked to the door. Emily never took her eyes off me. She watched me as though I was a ticking time bomb. I heard the door open.

"You! I mean, hello! We weren't expecting you back tonight…" Uncle Sam said, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest as I saw who he was talking to. Bryan stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone. He half-smiled a tired smile at Uncle Sam and when he saw me, his face lit up with joy.

"You found her! Thank God!" and Bryan pushed past Uncle Sam until he was holding me in his arms, clutching me to him and I'll be damned to the lowest depths of Hell if he didn't smell like the sweetest piece of Heaven.

"No one told you?" Uncle Sam asked warily.

"No!" Bryan said, not letting go of me. "I was with Embry, in his car, and when we couldn't find her that way, I got out and went into the woods to look for her. Embry told me to come back but I ignored him. I'm sorry. I came back here, thinking that maybe she'd come home," he said to Uncle Sam. "I'm glad you did," he whispered to me. Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily began to talk over each other.

"Well…that's really nice of you, Bryan, and we're terribly sorry for not getting word to you sooner—"

"Oh, and we do hope that you won't catch cold—"

"—but we really think that Claire needs her rest now—"

"—you're awfully sweet to have walked so far—"

"—and it's late, so it'd probably be best if you—"

"—but we really think it's time that you—"

And then, together: "—went home."

I kind of wanted to pimp-hand them.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'm just glad she's alright. I guess I will see all of you later. It was a great party, Claire…"

"I'll walk you out," I said, desperate to have at least one minute alone with him before he left. I tried to ignore Emily's worried expression and Sam's furrowed eyebrows.

As soon as Bryan and I were out the door and it'd closed behind us, I pulled him into a tight hug. He chuckled and patted my hair.

"I missed you, too," he said. I felt his lips graze my forehead.

My stomach began to quiver and I felt sick again, but not in the good way. Tears scalded the back of my eyes and I suddenly felt a thousand years old. Someone's heart was about to get broken. And I knew whose it was…but living with it was something I was not ready for.

I tilted my head up to look at him, really look at him, and saw by the dim porch light that he was looking down at me. I could hear rain dripping off the roof now, and it was a peaceful sound, quiet and melodic. It contrasted horribly with how I felt inside.

"I wish you hadn't chased after me. You'll probably get pneumonia or something now," I whispered, recalling how angry Quil had been with me for running in the rain and how he'd said almost exactly the same thing. I cringed and shivered.

"Hey, hey," Bryan said, rubbing the tops of my arms to warm me, "don't beat yourself up about it. I'll be fine. Actually, if it makes you feel any better, part of the reason I got out of the car was because Embry kept asking me what I thought about you and Quil being together, if I thought you two made a good couple or not…it kind of pissed me off. So, yeah." His eyes seemed to darken at the memory. "It wasn't really a fun trip."

I made a mental note to pimp-hand Embry also.

And I laughed in spite of myself. It was amazing how much my life sucked, and how little I'd known before. Suddenly, with all the new information, and knowing I was a part of some mythical circle of werewolf-dom…oh, wait! Quil…werewolf Quil…he'd heard me in the woods when I hadn't called his name…he had superb hearing…could he hear me talking to Bryan, right now? Could he hear my heart hammering madly in my chest? Could he hear Bryan's skin brush against mine as his hands traced the lines of my face?

Did I care?

Somehow, I knew the only way I could do this was to just give up for a moment. I had to focus on something that had nothing to do with being sad. It had to be the happiest memory I had. So of course, it would involve Quil.

I sifted through my mind to find the one fleeting fragment of time when I'd felt the happiest. _Image, image, image—no, no, no. Wait! Yes. That one._ And I latched onto it and played it over and over in my mind when I spoke.

"Bryan," I began, and in my head, I saw myself on Valentine's Day. "There's something I have to tell you." I was crying, sitting on my bed. No one had gotten me anything. I was Valentine-less. "It's about you, and me, and Quil." It was because I was ugly, and I knew it. All the pretty, popular girls with shiny blonde hair and perfect smiles and skin had gotten beautiful cards and candy at school that day. "There's a lot I can't tell you, but I'm hoping you'll understand."

My breathing slowed and I relaxed into the movie in my mind. I could even feel the tears on my cheeks from so long ago. Or was I crying now? I didn't know. I didn't think about it.

"What do you have to tell me, Claire?" Bryan asked, curious.

"Two things." Quil had come into my room (well, more like kicked the door in; I was upset and I'd barricaded it with a chair) and sat down beside me. His face looked almost as tortured as I felt. I hadn't understood then that it was because he felt my pain like his own. "First, you are the greatest boy I've ever met. You're a wonderful friend, and you're smart, and talented, and funny. I'm so glad just to know you, and I really mean that." Quil asked me what was wrong. In the present, while Bryan watched, I closed my eyes and saw my vision even more vividly. I told Quil, quietly, that nobody loved me, and no one wanted me. He asked why I thought that. I told him…because nobody bought me a card.

"Oh. That's great. I'm glad I met you, too, Claire. Is there something else?" and now he sounded worried. Just a little, though. I took a moment and let myself embrace the rest of my thoughts before I spoke again. Quil was listening, now…maybe…so I had to word this carefully.

But back then, he'd taken my hand in his and smiled at me. He pressed one enormous thumb gently against my face, and it was so hot that the tear simply evaporated into the air. Snot was running out of my nose and I knew I was hideous, but Quil never once let me go. Then, from his pocket, he brought out a little heart-shaped box. It was red and covered with tiny faux gemstones. I thought it was beautiful. It looked small in his hands, but it was larger than both of mine. He told me to open it, and sniffling, I did. And I burst out laughing. The box had once been filled with chocolates, but since it'd been in Quil's scorching pocket, it had all melted into a gooey mess. His forehead creased and I knew he was mentally kicking himself.

I'd dipped my finger into it and wiped it on his nose.

"You're wrong, Claire," he'd said. "I love you. And I'd be honored if you'd be my Valentine. Would you like that?" Would I? Would I want that? Back then, sure I had. But now? Did I want that right this moment? How about tomorrow? How about…_forever_?

"Claire?" Bryan said, his voice thick and dream-like.

My resolve returned to me in an instant and it was pure and hard and unyielding. My choice was painfully clear.

"Are you okay, Claire?" he asked, and his hands dropped from my shoulders. "You had something to tell me, about you and Quil…"

There! Right there. My heart melted and leapt for joy and broke and healed all at once, just at the sound of his name. Right _there_. Would you believe it?

"Yeah…Quil. Me and Quil." And I was smiling. "Quil and I."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" he asked, and his voice soaked into my bones and I knew it was true.

"Yes. I am."

He hesitated for a moment. Inside, I was running and doing jumping jacks and half-way throwing up I was so freaking…relieved. I'd said it. I'd said it and it hadn't killed anyone. I didn't deserve it, either. Stupid Quil. Stupid Quil and his melted-chocolate Valentines.

"Well, then," Bryan said, and he half-smiled at me. "I guess your birthday turned out pretty great after all." And he wasn't mad at all. He just kept smiling at me, and I knew he was really happy for me. I threw my arms around him and nodded.

"It did. Thank you."

When our embrace was over, and he was walking down the front steps, he turned back slightly to look at me. He had a thoughtful look on his face.

"What is it?" I asked, reeling from the shock of being without that stress. The tiny little piece of my heart that could have fallen in love with Bryan had flown away somewhere. Maybe I'd left it in the forest and was just now realizing it. Maybe Quil had kissed it goodbye for me. And maybe I was nuts.

"You. Just you. You look beautiful, Claire. Much older than sixteen. More like twenty-five." And I laughed a little. He turned again and walked toward his bike, shook the rain off it, and mounted it. He kicked up the kickstand and started forward, calling back over his shoulder as he rode away, "Happy birthday, Claire, and goodnight!"

And under my breath, I whispered, "Goodbye."

…….

End Chapter

One of those bittersweet kind of things. Gotta love 'em. Review it!


	8. I'll See You Again A Long Time From Now

Disclaimer: Simply put, it's not my junk. I'm so out of creative disclaimers that it's not even funny. It's okay. I cried, too.

**Song for this chapter: "Hello, I'm in Delaware" by City and Colour**

!!!! This chapter is written from Quil's point of view...because it just had to be. And also, this a bit worn out, but you really MUST listen to this song. I can't imagine any other song could fit this chapter so perfectly.

_So there goes my life  
Passing by with every exit sign  
It's been so long  
Sometimes I wonder how I will stay strong...  
But I will see you again  
I will see you again a long time from now._

No matter how much you love someone and want them to be happy, it still hurts like hell when they find that happiness with someone other than you.

I stayed in that room and I could still smell Claire's sweet skin, all of her goodness and all the confusion that she left behind her. I'd kissed her, I'd really kissed her, and she'd kissed me back and I was NOT imagining it. I knew she had. I'd felt it and my heart had hammered almost painfully against my chest. I wondered if she could feel it. I wondered if every man in love felt the way I felt or if it was just a side effect of being a wolf. And I knew the answer to that: I'd love Claire just this much even if it weren't for the imprinting. She was far from perfect, but closer to Heaven than I would ever be with anyone else. But in the midst of knowing all these things, I also knew and could smell that that Bryan prick had come back, and I could hear Sam and Emily telling him it would be best for him to go home.

I kind of wanted to hug them until they could not breathe.

I picked up on Claire's voice and heard the desperation in it. It made my heart break to realize why she sounded that way.

_"I'll walk you out,"_ she said, and I felt my lips curl back over my teeth. That Bryan asshole had better not try anything. He'd really done enough already. I heard the door open, two pairs of feet rush to get outside, and then the door closed again.

_"Shit."_ At least Sam felt the same way I did. I moved across the room to the window that looked down on the porch. The boy had his back to me, but I could see Claire. I turned out the light so they wouldn't be able to see me watching them. And yes, I did feel like a stalker, but I didn't have a choice. Really.

They were hugging. My throat tightened.

_"I missed you, too."_ And he was laughing. Bastard. He lowered his head and I knew he was kissing her, probably on her forehead. I growled. My grip on the window sill tightened and I heard it creak.

_"I wish you hadn't chased after me. You'll probably get pneumonia or something now." _I couldn't stop the smile that turned up the corners of my mouth. Hadn't I just chastised her with the same words only a short while before?

_ "Hey, hey, don't beat yourself up about it. I'll be fine. Actually, if it makes you feel any better, part of the reason I got out of the car was because Embry kept asking me what I thought about you and Quil being together, if I thought you two made a good couple or not…it kind of pissed me off. So, yeah. It wasn't really a fun trip." _I made a mental note to buy Embry a shiny new chew toy. Or a beer. Probably the beer.

Bryan kept touching her and then Claire laughed at this stupid story of his, as though it was actually interesting. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the pang in my heart, the one that was telling me that I was part wolf...and Claire was freaked out...and right in front of her was this guy who obviously really liked her...and from the frantic way her heart was pounding in her ribcage, I knew that she felt much the same about him. A horrible thought suddenly came crashing down on me: Had anyone ever refused the one who'd imprinted on them? Ever? Oh, God.

_ "Bryan, there's something I have to tell you. It's about you, and me, and Quil. There's a lot I can't tell you, but I'm hoping you'll understand."_ The worry increased ten fold inside me. She sounded nervous, but strangely assured. And happy. And she was talking to him, not me. She'd had to talk to him first to tell him that she loved him, she wanted him, forever--_oh and hold on one second while I go back upstairs and tell Quil to get lost. _She wasn't saying it, but I knew it was coming. My fingers broke the window sill in a thousand splintered pieces.

_ "What do you have to tell me, Claire?" _And he sounded hopeful. Because he could see what I saw in her face: hope. Joy. Love. Sacrifice._  
_

_ "Two things. First, you are the greatest boy I've ever met. You're a wonderful friend, and you're smart, and talented, and funny. I'm so glad just to know you, and I really mean that." _I felt so sick suddenly. My arms trembled uncontrollably. I kept my eyes on Claire's face for one second more.Her eyes were closed and she was peaceful.Ready_. No. _

_ "Oh. That's great. I'm glad I met you, too, Claire. Is there something else?"_ And I couldn't stay. I couldn't make myself. I would not watch the love of my life while she confessed her undying devotion to this boy who would never love her as much as I did. My heart broke so hard and so fast that my knees seemed to give way. Before they hit the ground, though, I'd become the wolf. I tuned out all the noises around me, except those of the wide-open forest. And without another moment's hesitation, I dove through the window, tore across the yard, broke through the brush and sailed through the trees. I ran until I was at my own home, outside the door of my truck. The tears that streaked my fur poured down my face.

By now, I knew what was happening. Bryan had his hands all over Claire's beautiful face...and probably other places of hers that I didn't want to think about him touching. He would use her and throw her away. He would never love her like I did, never. I kept repeating that to myself as I changed again and opened the door to my truck. I reached into the passenger seat and pulled out the cutoff jeans I kept there in case of emergencies. After I'd gotten them on, I jumped into the truck and flipped down the visor, pulled out the key I'd hidden there and jammed it into the ignition. The truck roared to life and I nearly broke off the gear shift before I tore out of my drive way. I'd explain everything to the others later. All I knew right then was that I had to get out. Leave. It would kill me to see Claire with someone else, but it would kill me even more to be unable to see her at all. Good.

The tears hardly made it half way down my cheeks before they turned to steam and disappeared.

And as I headed out of town, I came across a guy on a bike. I recognized it as Bryan--and darkly considered running him over.

I almost did. Then I pictured Claire's face...

Bryan waved at me, looking confused. He probably thought I was still back at Sam's house, with Claire, where she would be explaining that she just couldn't stomach the sight of me and that she so loved Bryan and she hoped I would understand.

No, thanks. That was one conversation with Claire that I would gladly miss.

And so I drove past him, hoping he hadn't seen the anguish in my face. I could not stop myself from glancing at Sam's house when I passed it, either. But I only looked for a moment, imagining Claire's joy when she didn't have to ruin her wonderful night by having to talk to me. Then I focused my eyes back on the road, gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed down on the gas pedal.

I did not know where I was going and I wasn't really sure that she'd kissed me back after all. Maybe I'd imagined her lips fiercely responding to mine, her heartbeat fluttering like a hummingbird's in her chest, her cheeks flushing red so beautifully. Maybe I'd imagined every loving look she'd given me for the past fourteen years.

But the agony of feeling my heart being ripped to shreds--that was one thing I only wished I was imagining.

**Review??? Yay!**

And I know Quil sounds horribly emo and irrational--but think about the situation for a moment and you'll understand why. Good? Great! And thanks for reading.


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